Dr Fixit (031 - 040)

 031

'But the celebrant couldn't avoid this: the dough

in his wallet thinned and he thought of how more

of it he could make so he slipped out to gamble,

throwing the dice and on every tackle 

and dribble of footballers, he picked

and betted on the team that would kick

in the winning ball. Waking from a hangover

and stepping across on the floor a one-night lover,

the shiny wagoner opened the door

of his inherited mansion and saw

032

'his father's steward hand him a note

which with bleary eyes he read and who wrote 

the terse message was a lawyer 

from the chamber his dear father

chose to manage his entire estate:

'The farm is bankrupt.' Though somewhat late,

the dude's senses returned. He rushed and jumped

into the wagon and right at his rump,

the army ants tagged along. The stallions

arrived the farm littered with empty gallons

033

'and drums. There was no farmhand in sight.

Poverty puts old friends into flight.

The shiny wagoner took off his shiny stuff 

and moved into his overalls and though quite tough,

took the shovel and walked around the farmhouse,

picking a discarded coat here and there a blouse,

then the litter and put all in the bin.

Tediously he worked till the site was clean.

Then he drove the mules with the plough

to till and sow the seed. He milked the cow

034

'and though sore, carried the milk to the store.

He worked for several days and was sore.

He ventured to his uncle's home for

some counsel. The old man stood in his door

and offered his nephew what he asked for:

"Take your wagon, son, and take a tour

like you told me and bundle, if you can, Mr Time;

into it. If he'd be your passenger, you'll be fine."

The dude took the message literally.

He returned to his wagon unwaveringly 

035

'and asked whosoever gave him a ear

in which nook he could ride near

to pick Mr Time. The folks of the island

who had first heard of the tale grand

from his uncle, directed him to the boulevard

where they said if he rode really hard

he'd meet him as he headed to see the Monarch

to give him the volumes of tales in his backpack.

The dude rode hard and long searching every face

to identify Mr Time and seat him on the surface

036

'of velvet that covered the cushion

that stretched across the back section

of the wagon where the army ants huddled

to feel the fellow who from time old had muddled

every human thought of eternal fun

which rises at morn and sets with the sun

right at dusk. Night is for a deep fear

of the unknowns, the silent pain humans bear.

The dude's sweat drenched his eyebrows.

The stallions were hungry and needed to browse.

037

'The dude realized a trek on a charming wagon

would give him aches much the same as working on

the farm. He wheeled onto a field of grass

which the horses grazed. On the wheel of brass

he leant his back on, his butt on the grass -

he was thinking hard. The sun did wax

but he was shielded by a mammoth tree.

He had dozed but woke up as the stallions were done.

He checked his pockets, in one was a gold coin;

038

'the other had a plain cheque he could write on,

if he so wished, to grab cash for a little more fun

or fuel himself and the animals and searched for Mr Time 

and brought him home to dilly-dally and dine

on sumptuous meals and the very best wine 

he had, then his clock he would gladly rewind

to his teenage years and the games he missed

he would revisit and triple play them and kiss

real hard the maidens who once turned him down -

in fact, in adventure and fun he would be crowned 

039

'a regent and he would never grow old again

as he had holed up Mr Time in his den,

feasting him and making him dance to an endless song

played with the flute, drums, xylophone and gong.

His thinking buoyed him with new-found energy 

the dude never thought he had and with the synergy

from his refreshed stallions, he began the ride

with renewed hope that he would by the side

of the elusive Mr Time draw near and tap

his shoulder to step willy-nilly into his cab

040

'or wagon (to be more apt) and prove to his uncle 

he was right to have his fun as Time would dawdle,

he knew, and he would catch up with him.

The hooves of animals beat on till day turned dim,

the night sauntered in and in all the faces

seen singly or in groups in all the places

along the boulevard, none was that of Mr Time.

The dude licked his sweat which tasted like brine.

He checked into a lodging for the night

where to seek further fun, he was filled with fright